


Lip-Contact

by RiaTheDreamer



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: First Kiss, Friendship, Humor, Idiots in Love, M/M, Making Out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-09-12 16:14:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9080044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RiaTheDreamer/pseuds/RiaTheDreamer
Summary: The Reds and Blues have a movie night that will forever be known as the evening where Grif’s and Simmons’ lips made contact three times, but they did most certainly not kiss (according to them, of course).Tucker is, as expected, losing his mind about it.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [a_taller_tale](https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_taller_tale/gifts).



Chorus lacked a lot of things. Oreos, if you asked Grif. A stable internet connection, if you asked Simmons. _Miss Pretty’s All-natural Shampoo for Extra Soft Hair_ , if you asked Donut (but no one ever really asked Donut). Peace and quiet, if you asked the citizens of Chorus.

But, surprisingly enough, there was one thing that Chorus actually had, and it was found behind the crates of unused bedrolls in the far corner of one of Armonia’s storerooms.

“I can’t believe this shit’s still working!” Tucker exclaimed happily as he kneeled down in front of the old dvd-player. When it came to life, a cloud of dust rose from it.

Grif had already opened one of the bags of chips they had acquired (good work, Matthews, that effort deserved at least a B) and he placed chip after chip on his tongue like it was a red assembly line. He was glaring unimpressed at colorful static the projector was throwing on the wall. “ _I_ can’t believe this shit’s still working. And I’m not happy about it.”

“Right,” Simmons snorted as he helped Lopez push Donut’s bunkbed (the upper bunk was used for his decorative pillows) into the living room. Of course, he helped by letting Lopez know which direction to push. They had built the robot for a reason, after all. “Like you weren’t excited to have another reason to stuff your face.”

“I have one constant reason to eat, Simmons. It’s called being alive.”

“Normal people eat to live. You live to eat.”

“Is there supposed to be something wrong with that, Simmons?” Grif asked, carefully letting another chip rest against his lips. The cyborg rolled his eyes at the sight.

When they had moved into Armonia, the Reds and Blues had been given one flat. To share. It had worked out better than expected. Mainly because the Blues had been given the bedrooms on the right side of the room, and the Reds had been given the rooms on the left. Then there was the living area, which Sarge had neatly separated into two halves by drawing a _red_ line across the floor.

The room did have one couch (also neatly separated by Sarge’s line), but that was nowhere near enough for a movie night. Hence why they had moved in Donut’s bunkbed since it worked as a double couch. It had been the only bed they were all willing to use since Simmons had complained about Grif’s upper bed being too messy, no one really wanted to touch Tucker’s bed (the upper bunk belonged to Wash), no one dared to take Sarge’s bed, and Caboose’ was too filled with stuffed animals and random junk he had kept.

“I have the popcorn,” Caboose announced as he stepped into the room holding a basket for the snacks.

“Why are we watching _Reservoir Dogs_ again?” Grif whined and slapped Simmons’ leg as the cyborg crawled up the latter to the upper bunk. “Why can’t we watch anything better?”

“You don’t watch porn at a movie night, Grif,” Tucker said as he rose from the ground. “Audience makes it weird.”

“Okay, so you did just admit porn is better than _Reservoir Dogs_?” Grif smiled smugly until Simmons’ foot (maybe on purpose) hit the back of his head. “Watch it!”

“What, did you expect another answer from him?” Simmons asked as he tried to make himself comfortable. With his now elevated vision, he could look right down into Caboose’s basket. “Caboose, those popcorn aren’t popped.”

“Oh.” The blue soldier stared at the corn for a moment before holding the basket towards Tucker’s shoulder where Church had appeared. “Laser face.”

“Caboose, you know I can’t do that,” the AI scowled, placing his hands on his hips.

“Oh,” Caboose said again, falling quiet for a moment, before: “Pretty please?”

“Caboose, does it look like a have a laser face?”

The soldier tilted his head in wonder. “I do feel a little bit of heat when you look at me like that.”

“That’s just my burning hatred for you.”

Caboose held up the basket in front of his face, as if using it as a shield. “Is it working? I can’t hear it pop.”

Casting a glance at the snacks, Donut walked by with his arms full of pillows for the maximum comfort. “I like them hard,” he commented joyfully while placing the pillows on the couch. “More of a crunch, then.”

“Yeah,” Simmons snorted. “And cracked teeth.” Leaning slightly forward over the edge of the bed, he looked down at Grif. “Do we even have a microwave?”

Tilting his head backwards, Grif met his glance. “Why the fuck are you asking me?”

“Because if we have some tool that can cook up dinner in the easiest and fastest way possible, you would know.”

“Hey, you do know we have people working in the mess hall here? Why would I go through the trouble of cooking when somebody’s already doing it?”

Simmons groaned loudly. “Ugh, you’re hopeless. Is it that impossible for you to-“

They never heard just what exactly Grif couldn’t do (there were plenty of possibilities) since Caboose had decided to give up on the popcorn and crawl up to the upper bunk instead. As he reached the final step of the ladder, he put his hand on Simmons’ shoulder for support, either in the belief that the Red would support him the final step or by simply mistaking the metal limb for the ladder’s rail.

Either way, the cyborg was unprepared for the sudden push, and as a result he fell forward, arms flailing. And since Grif had been leaning forward as well in order to look up at the cyborg, Grif barely had the time to widen his eyes before Simmons landed on top of him, dragging them both to the floor.

Simmons was already freaking on (you know, since he was _fucking falling_!) but when he landed on something warm and strangely soft, he almost lost his mind when he realized his face had made contact with something as well. And no matter how pillow-like Grif’s stomach may have been, it was not exactly pleasant to smash two foreheads together.

Groaning, Simmons automatically tried to bite his lip in a wince, only to realize it wasn’t _his_ lip.

He opened his eyes to stare directly into, well, his own green eye and Grif’s brown eye that had been stuck on the Hawaiian’s face for years now.

Pulling back as if he had been kissing a cactus, Simmons scrambled off the bigger man. “What the fuck?!” he whined, asking no one in particular. With his cheeks burning, he made the mistake to look up to see Donut and Tucker peeking over the edge of the couch to watch the scene. Donut’s eyes were sparkling like a kid opening a present at Christmas, and Tucker’s expression looked more excited than it had been the moment he had found the old _Reservoir Dogs_ disc.

Simmons could feel the horror crawling up his spine as they all began to realize what had just happened.

Grif had pushed himself into a sitting position and was now rubbing his mouth with the back of his hand. “You fucking bit me!” he complained, words slightly muffled as he caressed his lower lip.

One of the corners of Tucker’s mouth was lifted upwards. “Kinky.” His eyes landed on Simmons whose cheeks were redder than Sarge’s blood.

“I- _That was an accident_!” the cyborg screeched, voice breaking like a teenage boys’.

“You finally kissed!” Donut practically cooed, a hand on each side of his face as he looked at his fallen comrades in wonder.

“Wha- No. _No._ That’s not- What do you mean by _finally_? And that didn’t count as a kiss! That was just Caboose pushing me off the bed!”

Above the cyborg, Caboose crossed his arms. “No. That was an accident.”

Church glared at the flustered cyborg from Tucker’s shoulder. “Hey, Caboose did something on accident and you didn’t die! Consider yourself lucky.”

Simmons had finally composed himself enough to keep his voice steady. “That was _not_ a kiss.”

Tucker was resting his elbows against the edge of couch, making himself comfortable as he seemed to have forgotten all about the movie. He folded his hands as he said, “I want to hear Grif’s thoughts about this.”

“You fucking bit me!” the Hawaiian whined again, casting a sour glance at Simmons.

The cyborg rolled his eyes. “Stop complaining – you’re fine!”

“You don’t know that! I could be bleeding! I probably am! Am I bleeding?!” With his fingers on his lower lip, Grif leaned towards Simmons since he was unable to see the damage himself.

The cyborg waved him off. “I don’t want to look at your lips, Grif!”

Moving closer to Tucker, Donut explained in a hushed voice, “They tempt him.” Tucker grinned, and his eyes were shining with a mix of amusement and maliciousness that made Simmons want to gulp.

Clearing his throat, Simmons was about to explain why the situation was now what they believed, “I-“, when it suddenly began to rain corn.

Apparently, Caboose had dropped his popcorn.

“I’ve dropped my popcorn,” Caboose announced helpfully while both Simmons and Grif were shaking the snacks out of their hair. When Simmons wasn’t looking, Grif quickly put some of them in his mouth to see if they still tasted of salt.

Church managed to look amused. “You don’t say.”

“Well, you throw rice at weddings,” Tucker shrugged. “So why not corn at the first kiss?”

“Not a kiss!” Simmons objected.

“Waste of food,” Grif grunted as he tried to push himself off the floor. His plan was to get back on the bed before Simmons could claim the obviously most comfortable place for the movie night, but as he tried to straighten out his legs, his heel slipped on some of the corns. Losing his balance, he fell forward.

And that was how their lips met for the second time.

They both pulled back immediately. Behind them, Donut had covered his mouth in disbelief, while Tucker turned to Church and complained, “Fuck, man, I should have brought the video camera!”

“What – for blackmail purposes?” the AI asked.

“Oh yes.”

“Don’t forget the scrapbook!” Donut reminded him as he finally let his hands fall.

Simmons’ face was contorted into a grimace, and the source of his discomfort was revealed a second after when he spat out the corn Grif had been chewing on before he slipped. For a moment, it looked like Simmons was about to cry from the sheer horror of the bad hygiene.

Grif looked pretty unhappy as well, and when Simmons had recovered from his trauma, he raised an eyebrow at the Hawaiians’ pained expression. “What are you crying about?”

“Your face’s fucking metal,” Grif hissed, poking his own sore cheeks carefully. “This shit hurts!”

“Well, it’s only half my face.”

“Oh right, Simmons, I’ll be sure to aim for the right side of you face the next time I slip,” Grif spat sarcastically with narrowed eyes. “We can fucking air kiss then!”

Tucker held up his hands. “Wait, wait, wait – so you just admitted that you two-?”

“ _We weren’t kissing_!” they hissed in unison, surprising each other enough to turn their heads for a moment, but then returned to stare menacingly at the Blue soldier who looked like he was about to fall off the  couch from holding back laughter.

“Dude, if that’s not a kiss, I don’t know what is! It even looked like you had some tongue action!”

“Not a kiss,” Simmons repeated sternly. “This is… uh… Brief, accidental lip-contact.”

“Just call it a head-butt,” Grif grumbled, still rubbing his sore face.

Tucker snorted. “What – with your lips?”

“Lip-butt?” Caboose suggested and gave them the further explanation, “They’re placed just below the butt cheeks.”

“Can we just start the movie already?” Simmons asked, cheeks red once again. He left the floor, careful not to stop on any corns, and sat down on the lower bunk since Caboose had proved the upper one too dangerous. A moment after, Grif gingerly joined him, sitting on the same bed but with a respectable distance between them.

Tucker never had the chance to answer since the door opened and in stepped Wash who stopped in the middle of his tracks when he noticed all the intense stares on him. “You haven’t begun yet?” he wondered out loud. “I thought you said I would miss all the best parts if I stayed for my so-called ‘bullshit, boring status-meeting with Kimball and Carolina that was in no way relevant given Chorus’ current situation’?”

“Well, technically,” Donut said, “you did miss out on all the action.”

“What?”

Before anyone could answer him, Tucker held out his hands for everyone to stay quiet. “Wash, what is a kiss?”

The Freelancer had just closed the door behind him when the question caused him to freeze. He took a couple of seconds to think about his answer, and when he spoke, he sounded more than just a little bit suspicious, “…Why are _you_ of all people asking me that?”

“Dude, I know what a kiss is. And more, if you know what I mean. Bow-Chicka-Bow-Wow.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Caboose said quickly and bitterly.

Wash looked up at him for a moment, but then turned his gaze towards Tucker and Church who was still floating above his shoulder. The Freelancer lowered his voice into a hushed whisper, “I thought you had agreed on never giving Caboose the talk.”

“Oh fuck no!” Church exclaimed. “You think we would have a group meeting for that?”

“I don’t understand! Why doesn’t anyone want to talk to me?!”

Wash sighed and took another step further into the room. “Honestly, I’m not quite sure what is going on here.”

“We’re trying to explain these two morons that they just made out,” Tucker explained, his one annoyed as he pointing accusingly towards Grif and Simmons who were now frozen in place.

The Freelancer tilted his head. “Shouldn’t that be pretty easy to decide?”

Surprisingly, it was Grif who spoke first against Tucker. “Hey, if you call this making out, you’ve been off your game for too long.”

“Considering how long it’s taken you guys to kiss, I’m ready to call your next shared patrol for your honeymoon.”

“That’d be the shittiest travel ever,” Simmons complained with a frown. “We’d just leave the city to get shot at by some space pirates, and then return to receive other dangerous duties. Not exactly exotic.”

Wash was now leaning against the side of the couch, right next to Tucker. The Freelancer raised an eyebrow. “So we’re discussing honeymoons? Not kisses?”

“No, no, no, no.” Tucker was smiling so brightly that it looked like his cheeks might split. “So what is a kiss, Wash? Simple: lip-contact.”

“Well…”

“No, it’s not,” Simmons interrupted. His face was still slightly flushed after Wash had pointed out the fact that he had been talking about his and Grif’s possible (and imaginary) honeymoon. “You can’t just give it one definition when there’re different kinds of kissing: air kissing, French kissing-“

Grif interrupted Donut’s excited “Ooh!” when he snorted, “And if you look up the definition of kissassing, you’ll find a picture of Simmons.”

The cyborg spent two seconds sending Grif a dark stare. “ _Anyway_ ,” he hissed. “Accidental lip-contact does not count as a kiss.” He turned his head to meet Wash’ eyes. “So what happened was that I fell-“

“-for Grif,” Donut whispered to the Freelancer, and now it was the pink soldier’s turn to be glared at by Simmons’ cyborg eye.

“-from the couch, and landed on Grif’s face, and our lips may have touched for one second, and then Grif slipped, and it may have happened again, but those do not count as kisses.”

Tucker rolled his eyes, causing Simmons to set his jaw, and then the Blue turned to the Freelancer. “So, Wash, what do you say?”

“I don’t think I want to be the judge of this.”

“Well, I do.” Tucker cleared his throat and cracked his knuckles when he stretched out his hands. “You two had lip-contact and you liked it, and therefore you kissed.”

“How do you know they liked it?” Church asked. “They both looked like they had their lips stuck in a vacuum cleaner.”

“Easy. You two, kiss again.”

Simmons’ voice broke. “Wha- what?”

Donut _eep’_ ed. “I’ll get the video camera!”

The cyborg had covered his own flushed face with his hands when the door was opened. This time it was Sarge, in full body armor and with his shotgun over his shoulder, and he was marching directly towards the bunk bed. Simmons barely had he time to imagine just how much worse the scene would become if Sarge joined the debate before the Red leader had placed himself in front of them, arms crossed in dismay. “Simmons! Where are those extra crates of dynamite I ordered for?”

Simmons let out a brief of relief since Sarge’s scolding was better than the current situation. “Uhm, they were supposed to arrive yesterday, sir.”

“Well, according to the numbnuts in suspiciously blueish armor standing by the desk, the crates were picked up by a Lieutenant who claimed they were under orders to secure it. Do you know what that means?”

“He’s getting him a Christmas gift!” Caboose suggested in excitement.

Still glaring at Simmons, Sarge barked, “No!”

The cyborg tried to look past the Red leader in order to search for support at Wash and Tucker, but the Freelancer was merely watching the scene with crossed arms and Tucker just shrugged. “Uhm… That we are preparing for another attack on one of the pirates’ compounds?”

“No! This means treachery! Theft! Right under our noses!”

“Wait, so those stick weren’t firework?” Grif wondered out loud, and according to his expression, he regretted his question the moment Simmons slowly turned his head towards him, eyes narrowed.

“Grif,” he hissed, and behind them Sarge had already begun to growl.

The Hawaiian shrugged. “What? Kimball said my team is in charge of infiltration.”

“So you gave your men firework?” Simmons asked, deadpanned.

“Works as a distraction.”

“Thief!” Sarge bellowed.

Shrugging, Grif explained, “Hey, I was just putting them in a safe place before Donut could use them in some parade.”

“Safe place my ass!” Simmons snorted. “You don’t know anything about proper firework storage! You just put them the first spot you saw, never caring if they might go off by accident!”

“They won’t! They need fire to work! It’s in the fucking name!”

“So where did you put them?”

Grif rolled his eyes. “Where I put everything. Under the bed.”

Simmons dropped his jaw. “Our – _my_ bed?! _YOU PUT FIREWORK UNDER OUR BED_?!”

“Technically,” Tucker cut in, being the first of the Blues to speak during the entire scene, “he put dynamite under your bed. Way to spice up things in the bedroom.”

The cyborg looked like he was ready to pounce on the Hawaiian. “I’m going to fucking kill you in your sleep if the explosion doesn’t do it first.”

“Hey, am I the only one wondering just who allowed you guys to have extra dynamite in the first place?” Church asked, but the only answer he received was an offended huff from Sarge.

Simmons finished running a hand down his face, and he looked up to meet Sarge’s glare, “I’ll be sure to store them in the armory tomorrow, sir.”

“Good. We need them for the morning exercise.”

Wash looked like he might have been about to comment on Sarge’s explosive plan, but before he could utter a word, the Red leader had turned his dark stare on Grif. “Numbnuts,” he declared and promptly smacked him on the back of his head with his shotgun.

Then Sarge marched out of the room, slamming the door behind him. However, by doing so, he failed to see how he had caused Grif to fall forward, face slamming into Simmons’ as the cyborg had turned his head to watch Grif’s punishment.

Donut squealed loudly this time.

“Oh,” Wash said, trying to keep his expression neutral as he faced Tucker, “that’s what you meant with lip-contact.”

“This movie is boring,” Caboose complained from his spot above them all.

“No way!” Tucker exclaimed, looking at the blushing Reds. Even Grif’s face was flushed this time. “You have to give this scene the R-rating.”

“What does the _R_ stand for?” Caboose asked, finger on his chin.

“Retards,” Church answered. “Or Reds. Reds kissing. Ugh.”

“We weren’t kissing!” Simmons shrieked _one more fucking time_. When he saw that Donut was about to open his mouth, he cut him off before he could even say a word, “ _No_ , Donut! A first kiss has to be at least half-way intentional! And romantic! And not… whatever the fuck this was!”

“Well, maybe it is not as traditional as the famous spaghetti-sharing-kiss, but lip-contact is lip-contact.”

“ _Wait_!” Tucker’s voice was insistent enough to make the whole room fall quiet. The Blue waited for a moment, creating a dramatic pause, before: “So you basically just complained about the level of romance in your first kiss with Grif? That’s what he just said, right?” He looked around the room for support.

The cyborg’s face was now redder than a tomato.

But then, to everyone’s surprise, Grif spoke, “I’m going to bed.”

“Oh, come on, Grif. Don’t be a whimp. Fight for your side of the argument or admit you just kissed your crush.”

The Hawaiian flipped Tucker the finger. “Fuck you.”

“Come on – the movie hasn’t even started.”

“Shit movie, no good snacks, room full of assholes.” Grif counted the reasons on his fingers. “Yeah, I’m choosing a nap.”

When he stood up, Simmons copied the motion. “I’m off, too. Someone has to make sure our bed doesn’t explode.”

“Whimps!” Tucker called after them, sprawled lazily across the back of the couch. When the Reds slammed the door behind them, he rolled his eyes. “Well, that was fun. You made sure to mark the date, Donut?”

“Already planning the one month anniversary.”

The rest of the evening could only go more quietly from there.

Well, until half an hour later when Wash commented on the unpopped popcorn.

“Grif’s gonna have some snacks stowed away,” Tucker grumbled and reluctantly left the couch. Behind him, gunshots and explosions from the movie could be heard as he knocked on Grif’s and Simmons’ shared bedroom. “Hey, assholes! We know you have snacks, so give ‘em up!” When no one replied, he let himself in.

Wash had just let himself be consumed by the movie when he heard Tucker exclaim, “Holy fuck! Oh, there’s no fucking way you can excuse this shit!”

“ _GO THE FUCK AWAY, TUCKER!”_

“They’re making out!”

“ _FUCK OFF, BLUE_!”

“I know we told you have fun, but not this much fun. We’re right next door, sheesh, respect some privacy!”

“ _GET THE FUCK OUT_!”

“Well, it’s probably not the dynamite that’s gonna make the bed explode, bow-chicka-bow- _OW_! Stop throwing shit at me!”

Wash lifted the corners of his mouth into an amused expression and continued watching the movie.

**Author's Note:**

> I swear, these boys never grow up! Okay, so a_taller_tale wanted to see a Grimmons-kiss, and I realized I had never written a Grimmons-kiss before, not even in “As Seasons Pass”. The reason for this is because I’m having a difficult time writing too much romance while keeping the boys in character. So I made this piece which might be the laziest excuse for a Grimmons-kiss ever. Still, there should be four kisses in there. Or one. Depends on which side you took in the debate XD
> 
> I hope you enjoyed, Taller! :D maybe it didn’t turn out to be the fluffiest piece, but it did have a lot of humor, so I figured it could work!
> 
> Anyone else have a scene they want me to write? Feel free to prompt me on my tumblr, where I'm called riathedreamer. More info on my profile. Though I promise the next thing you’ll see for me is an update for “Shake”
> 
> And once again I apologize for any grammar-mistakes: English is still not my native language. (Danish for the win!)


End file.
